


infinity

by Linsneakers



Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Drabbles, Other
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-03-25
Updated: 2015-03-25
Packaged: 2018-03-19 13:07:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 1,074
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3611190
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Linsneakers/pseuds/Linsneakers
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Series of drabbles for my inquisitors. Beware of spoilers!</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. "Real"

Naia sat on the corner of the desk, staring blankly at the painted walls around her. Such intricate paintings, yet simple in their own way. She remembered walking in on Solas sketching out the designs for another segment of the wall, she remembered standing behind him and squinting, unable to tell what his line-work was trying to convey. She remembered his short laugh, the gleam in his eye as he gave her a devious smirk before he cracked a joke. She remembered how flustered, how embarrassed she was, how she could hear Dorian laughing as he leaned over the railing. She stammered and fumbled over her words.

 

“I'm not an artist! You could very well be drawing druffalo dung for all I know!” she exclaimed, eyes darting wildly from the sketch back to Solas as she tried to ignore the Tevinter's snickering from upstairs.

 

“You'll see soon enough that it is not druffalo dung, lethallan.”

 

When they were not out on excursions, she would watch as the elf worked and painted. Watched him blend and bleed the colours, watched as the thin lines were formed to breathe life and tales without a word. They would spend the moments in silence, but it was a calm silence, peaceful. Sometimes it felt like they didn't get to have peaceful moments anymore.

 

Her hands gripped the edge of the desk, nails digging into the wood as she stared at the sketch on the wall. The last piece, unfinished, hastily drawn. Terrible. Was it Solas' work? She couldn't tell. It felt like such different imagery, such a different tale from the rest of the story. It mocked her. She slipped off the desk and walked over to the unpainted wall, examining, trying to find out why it felt... wrong.

 

She found herself breathing heavily, nostrils flaring as tears flashed down her face.

 

“... _I want you to know, what we had was real...”_

 

* * *

 

“Remind me not to dump you.” Dorian said softly as he sat beside the elf.

 

Naia glanced at him from the corner of her eye as a healer bandaged her hand, a dry smile forming on her face. “Remind me not to punch a wall.”

 

“You know, you could probably ask Iron Bull to be your thing to punch. He quite enjoys getting whacked.”

 

“I don't know, Dorian. It could be the same as punching a wall.”


	2. Easy

“See? It's easy.”

 

Amira stared as Blackwall turned to her, handing her a chisel and hammer. She took the tools hesitantly, blankly looking at them before pouting up at the man.

 

Blackwall laughed, “You defeated Corypheus, and you're telling me you're too scared to try a simple wood carving?”

 

“Hey, _I_ didn't say anything!” she huffed, feeling her face and ears heat up in embarrassment.

 

“I'm pretty certain you thought it, my lady. Come, I'll help you.”

 

Blackwall lightly grabbed Amira's wrist, pulling her up from the stool and leading her towards the wood carving of a nug he'd started as an example. He nudged her closest to the table and stood behind her, hands firmly holding onto hers as he guided her through the motions. Amira's brow furrowed, wincing slightly every time the hammer collided with the chisel.

 

“You almost got my hand!” she whined, pushing her head back into his beard as he chuckled.

 

“I didn't, you're just panicked.” He rested his chin on top of her head, bringing her hands down to place the tools on the table, before wrapping his arms around her. “We can stop if it makes you that uncomfortable.”

 

“I'll leave the wood carving to you.”

 

“As long as I can leave dealing with darkspawn magistrates, dragons, and bears to you.”

 

“You are helping me with those bears or I will set your beard on fire.”


	3. Dim

“Why here?”

“I don't want anybody to eavesdrop... and I just... I... I've needed a walk anyway.”

Naia smiled over to Cole hesitantly, before she sat underneath one of the many trees. Cole hopped onto the risen and twisted roots, kicking his feet as he watched the elf sigh in aggravation, resting her head in her hands.

“Your paintings came off.”

Naia glanced up at Cole, short scoff falling out of her lips. “Trust me, I thought they were going to stay, but then Solas told me...” She trailed off in a sigh.

“Eyes heavy and burdened—looking at me, through me. Words die on his lips and he changes to others of chains, cuffs, captivity. Revealing, restless, I stumble—eyes meet his—sorrow, sadness—'sorry'. 'Take it away.'”

The Inquisitor took a deep breath as Cole finished relaying her memory. She fought back the tears as she rested her head against the trunk of the tree, staring at the boy before her eyes darted around the forest. It was quiet. Faintly, she could hear the whistling of the birds somewhere behind them. Silence, until Cole started kicking his feet again.

“Cole...” Naia started, taking another deep breath. “You know... when I asked you what you saw in me? You said I was... bright. I... what do I feel like to you... now?”

She turned to look at him, concern etched on her face as she brought her knees up to her chest, fingers lightly tapping on her knees. The brim of his hat covered his face as he looked down to her, feet still swaying, knocking onto the roots he sat on.

“Dim.”

The Inquisitor clutched her fingers into her pant legs, searching for the boy's eyes under his hat. “Is that... good or... bad?”

“Light still shines, but it's above the water. Almost reaching, almost there. So many waves—whirling, wheeling, washing me away as the whispers snake and slither into my ears—speaking, shouting, sharing, sighing. Faded by the waves, but I hear them all. Every, single, each. They barely tickle my ears, they barely touch my skin, but I feel. I hear. They're there and there and here. Voices swirling—waves splashing—light slipping away. It's right _there_. I'm right _here_. I can't get me. I can't get out. Water too deep. Too many voices. Too deep. Which voice is me?”

Naia cradled her head back in her hands, taking deep breaths as she bit her lip. She could hear the faint chirping of birds somewhere behind her, the knocking of Cole's boots as he kicked his legs, the sound of her heart hammering in her chest, the whispers in her head.


End file.
